Let the world spin madly on

Found a postcard from you while decorating my apartment, a picture of the Capuchini Bone Chapel, morbidly appropriate, considering everything. On the back, your handwriting occupying every millimeter of space. Ironic isn't it, how intensely you held on to what you said you felt, and now it seems that I was the one holding on to nothing at all?

And these things that remind me of you have been losing color for years, Phantom Planet missing from my playlist, I can no longer remember what roads we took to the reservoir where we spent starless nights screaming, or recall your eyes (caramel colored perhaps). Even the monthly dreams of our reconciliation have abandoned me.

"I think of you, and where you've gone and let the world spin madly on."